<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Nonsense by shiro_with_blueberries</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841271">Nonsense</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiro_with_blueberries/pseuds/shiro_with_blueberries'>shiro_with_blueberries</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A3! (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Non-Explicit, horny while writing/painting, mild NSFW, only dirty if you want it to be tbh, tsuzukazu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:13:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28841271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiro_with_blueberries/pseuds/shiro_with_blueberries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 1: The writer and the artist</p><p>Tsuzuru writes and Kazunari paints. But maybe, this time they go further.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Minagi Tsuzuru/Miyoshi Kazunari</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>TsuzuKazu Week 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nonsense</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are times when everything just aligns. Two hearts start beating at the same time, connected by something that, even if invisible, is stronger than any tangible string. It had been so long since the last time they could do what they liked driven only by something as simple as pleasure. But they set their gaze on that blank space in front of them at the same time, in spite of being in different rooms, haven't talked about it and just decided doing it because they felt a sudden need to do so. An empty canvas in the middle of a storage room and white papers laying on a desk. No one else was around. Even so, they felt like someone was beating inside of them, taking absolute control of their moves.<br/>
They're taking a deep breath now, somehow shared oxygen between them. Maybe that's why they felt like it wasn't enough, and their lungs demanded more. But, in some way, they also felt as if that need wouldn't be filled by breathing. They had to create something, take that thing off their chests while no one else but the moon was peeking at them through glass. A hand wanted to take a pen, and the other looked for a brush. They weren't familiar with the goosebumps caused only by letting their fingers touch their tools. It was something they did often, their thing, what people knew them for. And yet, this time felt like the very first, excitement caused by trying something unknown rushing through their bodies, making them have to part their lips, grasping for more air, lacking due to their suddenly heavy breath. They're still drowning in it. And they close their eyes.<br/>
That excitement only increases when each other shows up among that shared darkness of their minds. The closest they'd ever get to a muse, they thought. An inspiration, what filled them with those feelings that they needed to take out of them somehow to keep their sanity. And they know it shouldn't be like this, since there's an abyss between them, one very hard to close. Because the other doesn't know. But precisely because of that, it shouldn't matter. No one was around, no one would know, only they could get in their minds, that place where they could be so close it was difficult to tell them apart, where the fantasies and dreams that kept them going were gone, where desire and despair resided equally.<br/>
As soon as they open their eyes, they can picture that unreal image into something hidden but able to be seen and touched, the perfect way to let it out while not giving other eyes the ability to tell. Their spit was thick down their throats in anticipation. Those green eyes need to be closed again when the brush meets the paint, trapping his lower lip, just in case, he doesn't know why, but he still does. Once again, his gestures are mimicked as the pen meets the ink. The feeling of their tongues against their lips somehow felt very pleasing, so pleasing they even thought it had to be wrong. Still, they had to focus on the empty space in front of them.<br/>
Their chests keep going up and down at the same time as they meet it with a firm hand. They picture it again, just to make sure they know what to do. Of course, it's clear. Only by thinking about that bright sun blinding them, giving them a never-ending thirst impossible to satiate, which heated every corner in them; that poisonous muse corrupting their bodies until it didn't belong to them anymore, until their lungs were useless, and every part of their body was beating. Their hands finally moved, drawing the first lines of the piece that would come as a result of their own evisceration, what made them shiver already.<br/>
Far from inspiration, unbelievably beyond that, they move without thinking at all, not about the whiteness, but of what was taking their minds over instead. The brush slipped as if it was alive through the canvas, tracing perfection every single time, nothing but the purest form of dark, hidden feelings. Words came by themselves, a mirror anyone would be ashamed to look at, a reflection of that thing that hasn't come to life. Guilt only makes them keep going, lose their breath a bit more, try to swallow in vain. A cursed dance between them, one that's not supposed to be requited. No one would accept that devilish dance, at least no one in their full sanity.<br/>
They would go on. Sighing every time, they felt like they lost their mind for a second, and regaining consciousness right after. Sometimes, their eyelashes felt heavy, but none of them dared stopping. It was as though something would be broken if they did, something magical and impossible, that one thing that would feed their minds for days. Their bodies moved, a mix between pleasure and discomfort, asking for something they tried to fill by going even faster in their creation. Both of them, though, knew there was something else hidden among those butterflies flying inside their stomach.<br/>
Both of them, calming their speed a bit, reach for their knee with their free hand. Only one fingertip getting to touch it, and slowly going up their leg until reaching the waist. They bite their lips again, just in case. That finger was driven back down, and then switched for another. Senseless forms, impossible to decipher, started being drawn on their skins. That didn't calm them down. Being far from it, only made them more desperate. They could swear that touch wasn't theirs, based on how ridiculously addictive it was. They just had to go further.<br/>
That touch on bare skin, caressing their lower tummy, definitely felt different. They went up, dangerously up, then back down. Messing around with themselves, a game of one that was meant for two. Creating more nonsense through their bodies. It was when they went lower when a swear came out of their mouths. Tempting as it was, they didn't want to stop that source of mental pleasure. Still, it somehow felt as if they could go even further. They search how, they wonder, they let their minds go wild. Something crazy comes to them, and they stop.<br/>
The blue gaze lands on a marker. The brush meets the paint again. They look at their free hand, probably where the line between madness and sanity lies. With their thumb, they caress the rest of their fingertips, and wonder whose hand is that. Not theirs. They're not even sure of their identity anymore, when they're drunk in someone else. Their palms are suddenly corrupted by paint and ink, drawing lines, writing words with them. They have to swear again when their backs arch by themselves, repressing that pleasure in a mysterious way. There's no way that's good, they feel it. It's dirty, it shouldn't happen. And yet, they keep messing with their hands.<br/>
They target their arms as long as they run out of space, and their throats let go threads of shattered voices. It's still not enough when their arm is filled with black, nonsense words, and nonsense drawings, even they can't tell. They have to get rid of their clothes if they want to have more blank space to fill, so both of them take off their shirts, not caring about it getting dirty. As soon as they're freed, they target their necks. It's definitely too much. They feel like laying on the floor and filling every inch they could. That actually doesn't sound that crazy anymore, so they give in and fall on their knees while still filling their skin with one hand and playing with the other. Their backs can barely touch the floor, since they keep twisting as they target their clavicles and chest. Their eyes turn white, and they stretch their legs. They also let go a light laugh, almost as if they were still capable of noticing the mad thing they were doing. It's clear that they can't when they fill their tummies and still try to reach as far as they can on their backs.<br/>
They just kept going, getting rid of their pants and blackening everything, panting louder every second, sweating and messing the floor. Not even their faces could escape from that bizarre act none of them could fight against. Insanity was covering them, pure madness expressed in the most honest art ever seen, born from a burning desire that set them permanently on fire, from the wildest dreams, from the impossible and the most wanted. They just did what they needed, since they couldn't do what they wanted to.<br/>
Until they found themselves alone, breathless, sitting on the dirty floor. They looked at their body. They couldn't be satisfied with their piece of art, since they didn't do it. They would never reach any kind of satisfaction until they got rid of that skin and let the other look at the inside. But that was still very pleasing, in an almost weird way. They wondered why while still looking at the result of letting everything go. And then, they realise. They burst into a loud laugh, letting themselves know that they're probably out of their mind.<br/>
That was how Kazunari ended up filled with unreadable words and Tsuzuru's body was covered in drawings impossible to recognise.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a collab with my friend Rory @/PurisuRisu on Twitter. Check the link below for amazing fanart of this fic! Thanks to my beta as usual, who always helps me a lot. Feel free to comment, it always cheers authors up! LET'S GET THIS WEEK!!!!</p><p>https://twitter.com/PurisuRisu/status/1351291670516686848?s=20</p><p>(It's truly amazing pls check it out)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>